


Assuage My Asinine Alacrity

by Cristinuke



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Bruce Banner gets lots of hugs, Comeplay, Crying, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Forced Eye Contact, Friendly Gangbang, Held Down, Kissing, M/M, Mild D/s, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, OT6, Rimming, Spitroasting, Subspace, The Avengers are good friends, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 04:25:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4045864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cristinuke/pseuds/Cristinuke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce is sad. The Avengers try to fix that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assuage My Asinine Alacrity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nonymos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonymos/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift for the lovely [Nonymos](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonymos/pseuds/Nonymos)!

Bruce was still shivering as he stumbled out of the elevator. He felt Clint's hand tentatively reach out to steady him, but Bruce still saw in his mind the way that Clint had almost died earlier, body nearly slow enough to have been turned into minced meat by a spray of bullets.

And it was all Bruce's fault, he knew.

So he carefully ducked away from Clint's outstretched hand, but his balance was shot and he bumped into the hallway wall.

"Bruce? Are you okay?" Steve's worried voice filtered in from the back.

Bruce wanted to laugh, but he knew if he did that, he'd break down into hysterical sobbing. _Was he okay_? Bruce was so far from okay.

He would have been okay with the fact that in the past 36 hours he had been kidnapped, strapped down to a medical table, had various medications pumped into him that made him hallucinate and scream in pain, been somehow locked out of releasing the Hulk, and then left there, cold, naked and without food or water, while the wannabe-mad-scientists took away his sanity minute by minute. He would have been fine with it, knowing that this was always going to be his future. He knew that experiments on him that included poking and prodding with shiny, silver and cold instruments were a given, that the drugs being fed to him through an incubation tube would result in horrific disassociation periods that made him want to beg to die, that the clinical voices of doctors and scientists talking over him, as if he was no more than a mere lab rat, were all reasonable and expected at this point in his life. Bruce wasn't stupid, he knew how little of value his life really was, in the face of scientific furthering.

He was okay with that, had made peace with it years ago.

What he wasn't okay with, was the fact that the Avengers had risked their lives to get him back.

Sure, he would always have that traitorous little voice in the back of his head that begged them to come save him, that somebody, anybody would come save him from the hell that was his life. But he knew that voice was too soft, too hopeful to have any real place in the world.

He knew that no one, especially no one from the team, should ever endanger their lives for his pathetic one. Not Steve, who was the epitome of good and righteousness, who could move a city with an empowered and passionate speech of loyalty and honor, who laughed at cat videos on the internet, who loved food challenges more than anyone, who was shy and loved to feed the pigeons on the rooftop. Not Tony, who took painstaking care to not come off as the caring, adoring and dorky man that he was, who envisioned the future and then made it come true, who protected and created and provided, who loved more fiercely than anyone, who was allergic to cats, but refused to accept it as he bloated while he pet every cat he came across. Not Natasha, who was fierce and capable and strong, who could emote radiance and authority without lifting a finger or saying a word, who didn't take shit from anyone, who couldn't sing on key, but loved to dance to stupid pop songs as well as the classical ones. Not Clint, who was the most human of them all, whose aim was always true whether on the battlefield or in life, whose loyalty was the hardest to earn but the most rewarding to keep, who screamed at a higher pitch than any of them when they watched a horror film and something jumped out in the scene. Not Thor, who was regal and worthy and godly, who could outshine them all, literally and figuratively, who was gentle but not a pushover, who could make a children's ward in the hospital all smile and laugh for hours, who crinkled his eyes in a smug grin when Tony underestimated his abilities to understand Midgardian technology, and who inexplicitly adored country music for reasons that were beyond anyone.

No, none of them should have ever have to put down their lives on the line, not for him, not for Bruce. Not when he could still remember watching through a drug-induced haze, of these warriors fighting and destroying the lab he was being held in, flames licking up the walls and lighting up the place, backlighting the mighty Avengers in haloed glory, and realizing that he had no place on this team. No place in this world. They should have left him there. They should have never put themselves in danger.

They shouldn't keep putting themselves in danger by having Bruce there.

Bruce snapped back to reality at Steve's repeated question.

"Bruce, are you okay? Maybe we should get you checked out,-" Steve was already turning to go back to the elevator, but Bruce stopped him, hand reaching out for him but stopping himself before actually touching.

"Hey, no, it's fine, it's okay. I'm just tired." He was more than just tired; he was absolutely exhausted from hardly sleeping in days, and the repeated injections of whatever drugs they used. He was also freezing, his thin body shaking like a leaf in the air conditioning after having been confined to the harsh concrete that had sucked away most of his body heat. At least he'd been able to eat on the plane, and had rehydrated easily. The darker parts of Bruce's mind hissed out wonderment at what was even the point of that; he should just slide away and slip into the black and cold abyss and never come back.

Bruce looked up when no one said anything. He watched their faces, expressions ranging from carefully neutral to outright worry, and Bruce was struck again with amazement at the fact that the team actually came for him and rescued him. They cared enough to come for him…

No. They couldn't care. They _shouldn't_ care. Not when he only brought death and destruction and danger.

Bruce still felt thankful, though. He was so fucking thankful that they brought him back to the place that he wanted so badly to call home. But just looking at his tired and sore teammates served as a reinforced reminder that he couldn't have this, he couldn't ever have this.

When still no one said anything, Bruce found himself rubbing his arms absently, fidgeting instinctually at the heavy silence. Bruce couldn't take it, so he blurted out, "I wanted to thank you guys, for, you know, coming. You really didn't have to do that. You really shouldn't have done that, actually." Bruce wrapped his arms tighter around himself, wishing he had on a long-sleeve shirt under the thin sweater that they had stashed on the plane. He was just so _cold_. No matter how much he tried to warm up, he just couldn’t.

"Bruce? What are you talking about?" Natasha spoke quietly, voice steady and calming as if she were talking down a frightened child. Bruce glanced up at her, but couldn't hold her gaze and dropped his eyes down to his bare feet, watching as he curled his toes in. He wished he had socks on. The floor was freezing.

He flexed his toes out again as he spoke, "You shouldn't have put yourselves in danger, not for me. It's okay, I know my place on this team, I know I don't bring a, umm, _proper contribution_ to the team, ya know? Just…death. And destruction…" At the stunned silence that followed, Bruce kept filling the space with words that tumbled out of his mouth, "You could have left me there and saved yourselves the trouble. Really. Probably would have been for the best if you'd just have forgotten about me."

"Would have been the best…?" Tony repeated, softly , taking a step forward. "The best for whom, Bruce? For us?"

Bruce took a step back, shuffling away from Tony. "Yeah," Bruce mumbled, refusing to look up. He missed the shared looks the others gave each other as he continued, "I know my worth, I know it's not enough here. It's okay, though."

"It's okay." Clint was the one to parrot his words back to him this time, and Bruce instinctively took another step back. "Bruce, I don't think you actually know your worth." His tone was flat and Bruce flinched.

He knew he was worthless. He knew that they all knew it. He'd just hadn't expected them to throw it in his face so suddenly. He felt even colder. "I'm sorry." He whispered, throat tight. He took another step back when he saw Thor's shadow get closer.

"I can go." Bruce offered meekly, hunching in on himself again. He didn't notice Steve's look of utter shock and bafflement at his self-deprecation behind him, but he did see Tony take another step towards him, making him instinctually take another step backwards.

"You're not going anywhere." Clint ordered lowly, and Bruce could tell there was barely controlled emotion under the strict tone. It made Bruce shudder, wanting to listen to him, but knowing that he couldn't.

"Seriously guys, it's not that big of a-" He cut himself off when he finally noticed that he had taken another step backwards. That was when he realized that everyone had been sort of cornering him into the middle of the living room.

Just as panic at being corralled was about to set in, Clint spoke up again, "Bruce, I don't think you understand just how much you're worth to us. How important you are, not just to us, but to the whole world. How absolutely _good_ you are." Clint was about to spew more lies, but Bruce couldn't bear it, couldn't stand to hear it anymore, and he tried to get away in a blind panic. He turned and was about to start running away from them, but he'd forgotten that Steve had been behind him, and he bumped straight into him. He was about to mumble out an apology, but then strong arms wrapped around him in a carefully restraining hug.

"Steve, wait,-" Bruce's budding protests were cut off by Steve's deep rumbling.

"Bruce, relax. Just for a moment, easy there. Just breathe." Bruce hadn't realized that he'd been near-hyperventilating, and he tried to even out his breathing immediately. Steve's voice held so much authority as he commanded, "Bruce, _relax_." Bruce gave another shudder, and Steve's arms tightened a little bit more, keeping him in place firmly, but snugly.

Between the panic, the unexpected touching and the warmth of Steve holding him close, Bruce couldn't help but follow the order, too tired not to turn into the solid body that was tethering him down. He didn't want to fight any more, didn't want to run even though he knew he should. But he was just too _tired_. And Steve was so encompassing and warm and strong, and more importantly, he was _holding him_. Keeping him from straying, keeping him from running, keeping him _still_ , and Bruce just couldn't fight that, he wasn't strong enough.

Bruce hadn't realized that his breathing had slowed down exaggeratedly. He didn't remember sagging completely against Steve, letting him hold his weight completely. He certainly didn't remember fisting his hands into the thin spare shirt that Steve was wearing, fingers curling into his sides tightly.

He only realized that his eyes were closed when he heard Thor talking behind him, "I think we should show our dear, mistaken friend, just how much he means to us and to the team."

Bruce opened his mouth to say that it wasn't necessary, but then there were two warm hands on his back, rubbing into the tired muscles and making him go loose. "I agree. Bruce is in dire need of a reminder of just how important he is to us."

Natasha. That was Natasha's voice, and Natasha's hands on him. Touching him. Massaging sore tendons and relaxing Bruce so effectively. Bruce was rapidly sinking down somewhere he didn't know, but it didn't matter because someone was _touching him_ , oh god he couldn't believe how warm he was becoming. How secure and safe.

Safe? That couldn't be right. He wasn't allowed to have safety.

His muddled illusion fractured when he felt Steve readjust his grip, and the panic that had been kept at bay started coming back full force to swallow Bruce whole,- he couldn't have this, couldn't be held, couldn't be touched, couldn't be _safe_ , couldn't handle this-

But then Clint was there, a strong, callused but firm, hand on his neck. Soft shushing followed, trying to calm him, as if he were a spooked and skittish animal. Bruce certainly felt like one.

"Shhh, easy, we've got you, it's okay." His fingers were digging into tense muscles, forcing them to relax. "Just breathe, Bruce, it's okay, just breathe."

Breathe. He could do that. Bruce could do that. Bruce couldn't help but do that, warmth seeping into every inch of his body as Steve's embrace refused any sign of escape, and Natasha's and Clint's hands kept on touching him, molding him into whatever they chose to make him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched like this.

"There you go, just like that, keep breathing, Bruce. You're doing so well." Steve's voice was soothing against Bruce's temple, but he still shivered in Steve's hold.

One of the hands on his back trailed up to stroke at Bruce's cheek and then cup his chin, exerting a gentle pressure to turn Bruce's head away from where he'd been hiding in Steve's chest. When Bruce opened his eyes, he saw it was Natasha who was grabbing his attention, her fingers soft on his face. Bruce didn't know what she was doing until she gave him a smile and leaned in, pressing her forehead against his for a moment. Bruce breathed in sharply, the closeness taking him off guard, but then she pressed her lips against his. Bruce didn't know how to respond, too stunned to do anything but let her kiss him; it was a chaste thing, her lips simply pressing against his chapped ones, and then it was over. Too fast, like lightening streaking across a dark sky.

Bruce whimpered, instinctively wanting to chase after her, but then Clint was there, hand replacing Natasha's and was just as gentle in guiding him to turn his head. "Hey Brucie. Is this okay?" Clint's thumb brushed across Bruce's lower lip, pushing it down slightly to part his lips more. Bruce nodded distractedly, watching Clint lick his lips; Bruce wanted to kiss him too, but he couldn't believe that Clint would want anything to do with Bruce like that. But then Clint's lips were on his, chaste and wet, but careful and light.

Clint broke the kiss, but he didn't move away, instead, he whispered against Bruce's lips, "Is that a yes?"

"Y-yes." Bruce stuttered out, and Clint kissed him again, a short little peck before moving out of the way, returning to running his hands through Bruce's hair and ending up back on his neck, continuing his massaging.

Tony suddenly appeared in front of Bruce, and before he could wonder why, Tony bent down to give him a tender and gentle kiss as well, lasting longer than the others, but never pushing for more. Bruce was left reeling when Tony swiftly became Thor, and a bigger mouth was abruptly on his. Of all their mouths, Thor's was the warmest, all wet and heat; his hand reached back to cradle Bruce's head towards his, angling him the way that Thor wanted. Bruce whined sadly when Thor carefully turned Bruce's face back towards Steve.

Bruce rested his head against Steve's shoulder again, but from the angle he was at, he could see Steve's lower half of his face clearly, predominantly his mouth. Bruce wanted to taste him too, after being pleasantly surprised by everyone else, but he knew he wasn't supposed to ask. Wasn't supposed to have this.

 "I want to kiss you, Bruce. Is that okay?" Steve asked him curiously, and it took Bruce a minute to understand what the question was, because he was so enraptured by the way Steve's lips moved. Bruce nodded when nothing happened, and then he was being shifted slightly, pushed up and closer to Steve's face. In the new position, it was simple for Steve to capture Bruce's lips with his, pressing lightly and carefully, but with an edge of passion just underlying the kiss.

Bruce unconsciously rolled his hips against Steve, moaning into his mouth and gripping harder at his shirt. When he realized what he'd done, Bruce broke away and started panicking, trying to get away as he spluttered out half-formed apologies.

"Oh god,- I'm so, I'm sor- sorry, I didn't-, sorry I-," His rambling got cut short when Steve tightened his grip and kissed him again, not giving Bruce an inch to escape. Bruce tensed at first, but then couldn't help but melt against him, whimpering when his hips bucked slightly against Steve.

This time, it was Steve who broke off the kiss, letting Bruce hide his face in his shoulder again, and not commenting on the way Bruce flushed scarlet with shame.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Bruce. _Nothing_." Steve stressed as he nuzzled his face against Bruce's hair and neck. Bruce shook his head, but then he was being moved away from his hiding spot, head turned back by a gentle hand, making Bruce face Natasha again.

Natasha's hand on Bruce's face was warm and light. Her thumb brushed over his lips, much like Clint had done earlier.

"Bruce? Is this what you want? You want us to take care of you like this?" Natasha asked quietly, eyes searching Bruce's with a focus that Bruce wasn't used to.

Bruce shuddered and heard from behind Natasha what sounded like Tony, murmuring, "You know what he's going to say if you phrase like that…"

Bruce swallowed thickly, not understanding why his mouth was so dry, before shaking his head in denial to Natasha's question, saying, "I, I won't make you do that. Really, you d-don't have to waste any more time on me, just…just let me go away." Bruce's heart was hammering in his chest and he wanted nothing but to let them do what they wanted to him, but he knew it just wasn't possible. He missed Tony's soft "Told you."

Natasha's hand slipped down from Bruce's face, and Bruce leaned back against Steve, wishing he could be swallowed whole by the ground. He was determined to keep going, though, "Besides," Bruce cracked a horribly mangled grin, "the Hulk would never allow it…"

He'd barely finished his sentence before he felt a hand sink into his hair and _grip_ , pulling him backwards so lightly, but with no room for resistance. Bruce's eyes snapped wide open, and he saw it was Tony, forcing Bruce to look up at him and giving him no option to escape his gaze.

"The Hulk is the least of our worries. He won't bother us, Bruce. Trust us." Trust them? He already did, but how could they be so sure? How could they be sure if he couldn't be? Bruce tried to look away, but Tony was implacable, eyes boring into Bruce's as he continued, "We want to do this, Bruce, want to take care of you. Will you please let us show you? Allow us to? Please?"

Bruce's throat clicked, and he tried to swallow through the awkward angle that his head was bent into. His mouth was still dry, even as he licked his lips. Were they really offering what he thought they were offering? Could he really have what he wanted so badly?

No, he couldn't have it, he wasn't allowed.

 But after a moment of searching Tony's earnest face, Bruce realized just how sincere Tony was being, how serious. They really wanted to do this for him. No matter how much Bruce thought they shouldn't have to deal with the mess that was Bruce, they were asking him for this.

Bruce closed his eyes in forgone acceptance, nodding dejectedly as he realized he was unable to deny them what they wanted. He just couldn't fight this, couldn't fight _them_ , not anymore. He didn't even really want to.

" _Yes_." Bruce's voice was broken, too scared to hope, but too tired not to.

He was completely surprised by a press of lips on his, a gentle touch that made him instinctively respond. When he opened his eyes, he saw that it was Tony who was kissing him so very sweetly, like before, but very purposefully, barring no room for argument. Bruce let out a whimper and couldn't help the tremor that seized his whole body at the contact, and what it meant this time. It felt too much, too electrifying, and Bruce couldn't bear for it to end.

Which was why he cried out softly and tried to chase his lips when Tony broke the kiss and leaned back. Tony's grip loosened in his hair, and Bruce's head automatically rolled back against Steve's shoulder, where he choked on another whimper.

"Easy, I've got you. I've got you." Steve murmured against Bruce's temple, hot breath ghosting along his ear and neck. Bruce couldn't help the white wall of rejection that spread through him when he suddenly found himself bereft of the hands that had been touching and stroking him; it was such a jarring and disjointed feeling that he could barely process it, a strangled cry somehow making its way out of Bruce's chest. But then Steve was there, softly reassuring him, "It's okay, Bruce, shh, it's okay."

Bruce opened his mouth to say something, to try and explain the warring emotional whiplash that was tearing him apart on the inside, but then the world spun violently and he had to close his eyes tightly against the head rush that overpowered him for a moment.

His thoughts were scattering and fragmenting apart, but he focused just enough to realize that Steve had picked him up and was carrying him through the hallways. He could hear the others all talking to each other, but he couldn't center himself enough to understand what they were saying, only hearing fragments:

"…he was there for _days_ , Nat, who knows…"

"…of course he thinks that, he wouldn't be…"

"…try, not saying it'll work, but we could…"

 "…can't believe he doesn't know…"

"…in the injections? Shouldn't we…"

None of it made any sense, and trying to string the sentences together just made Bruce's head hurt, so instead he simply let the murmuring sounds wash over him as his world narrowed to the safe warmth of Steve's arms wrapped tightly around him. He was so sure and steady that Bruce knew there was absolutely no way that he could fall. He couldn't focus beyond the even beating of Steve's heart under his cheek.

Before he knew it, he was being laid down onto a gentle surface, and Bruce blinked around, mind helpfully providing that they were on a huge bed, but the thought floated away as soon as there were hands on him again. Bruce gasped and couldn't help but arch up and lean into the touches. He felt like his entire being was writhing with shocks, and he lit up even more once he realized that there were mouths on him as well. He tried to chase all of the light kisses that were being pressed against his throat, his face, his hands, his stomach. He couldn't _believe_ the amount of warmth and touch that he was being gifted with, and he distantly thought that he'd never felt this much human contact before in his entire life.

He wanted to object and tell them that they didn't have to do this, didn't have to put up with him. He wanted to push them away and keep them safe away from him, wanted to refuse to subject them to having to deal with him, but he knew he wouldn't. Knew he would never refuse this.

There was literally no chance in hell that he was going to push them away, not when it just felt _so_ good. He'd never felt like this before, and he never wanted it to go away, _please_ never go away, _stay_.

 _Please don't leave me_ , he wanted to howl, _never leave me_.

Bruce was slowly being stripped, literally just as much as figuratively; he was being divulged of his thin clothing, and instead of being chilled, each new expanse of exposed skin was quickly graced with warm contact of some sort, whether with fingers, palms or mouths. Bruce felt his whole world going soft and fuzzy around the edges, his vision not quite able to keep up with the current proceedings, but strangely enough he was okay with it. He couldn't help but bask in the pure pleasure of just being touched. He was drowning in it all, drowning in the warmth, drowning in the careful handling, drowning in the security and _safety_ of it all.

Bruce knew the truth; he knew that he shouldn't be feeling this, didn't deserve this, that something was going to go wrong, and that he was going to wake up with all of this ripped away from him like it always does. Everything was going to leave him again, and he was powerless to stop it, so powerless _all the time_. He knew he couldn't have this, but he couldn't bear to ask for it to stop, he needed it too much.

Even though he knew full well that it would just hurt more when it was gone.

Amongst the haze of warmth, he heard someone talking lowly, talking _to him_ , directing him to move somewhere? But Bruce wasn't paying attention,- _couldn't_ pay attention.

It didn't seem to matter, though, because he felt strong hands gripping him and pulling him across the bed. Hands never seemed to quite leave him completely, and Bruce wondered if there was some sort of rotation going on. Bruce forced himself to open his eyes,- vaguely wondering when he'd last closed them, and for how long,- and after blinking a few times to make his vision stop swimming, Bruce focused enough to see what was going on. He realized that he was sitting in Thor's lap, leaning back against his chest, while Thor was propped up against the headboard of the bed. He looked down to see that Thor's arms were wrapped snugly around Bruce's chest, and when he gave a gentle squeeze, Bruce immediately went pliant, letting his head loll back against Thor's shoulder.

"Is this acceptable?" Thor's voice was low and rich, and Bruce felt pleasurable chills running through his body at the sound and the rumbling feeling in Thor's chest. It took Bruce a minute to understand that Thor was referring to his stronghold on Bruce, and only really understood the question when Thor indicated to his arms, pointedly hugging him. 

Bruce wanted to say yes, that anything that he would always say yes to whatever they wanted to give him, but he suddenly found that he couldn't find the right words for some reason. They just weren't coming out, his tongue thick and twisted, but he heard and felt Thor chuckle lowly, and then he was kissing Bruce's temple.

"It's quite all right, dear friend. I understand" Bruce could hear a smile in his voice, and it worked to settle Bruce. He figured he must have nodded or given some sort of assent, so he just relaxed back into the embrace. His arms felt heavy where they hung beside him, but he was okay with it because his hands were being held by other warm hands. Finger pads brushed along his knuckles or fingers interlocked and squeezed, always touching, always grounding. His own hands felt small compared to the others, so he assumed it must have been one of the guys on either side of him. A rough callus on some of the fingers made Bruce think that one of them must have been Clint.

As he settled, it slowly dawned on him that Thor was naked behind him, so much exposed skin rubbed deliciously across Bruce. Come to think of it, Bruce could feel all of that skin on his, because he himself was completely naked.

With some distant amusement, Bruce found it interesting that he was entirely unbothered with that fact; he told himself that it was probably because everyone here had seen what he had to offer, in all his unholy glory. He figured that they all knew what they were getting, knew what to expect.

What Bruce didn't expect, however, were the soft praises and compliments that were finally filtering through to Bruce. He had a feeling that they'd been murmuring them for longer than he had been hearing them.

"You're so good Bruce, _so good_."

"God, look at how beautiful you are."

"We're going to show you how much you mean to us."

"You're incredible, letting us help you."

"That's it, just let us take care of you, we've got you."

"We're not going to let you go, we're right here."

One after another, a soft litany of voices simply reassuring Bruce, and keeping him company, letting him know where each of them were, even though everyone was moving around too much for Bruce to really pinpoint their location. The hands holding his sometimes were exchanged, but he was never left alone. He just heard Clint's soft tones, Tony's agreeing hums, Steve's earnest declarations and Natasha's low promises all around him, with Thor's rumbling at his back. All their mingled and awed voices washed over him as he let their words sink deep into his skin, integrating themselves where Bruce didn't know there was space. He couldn't fight them, couldn't fight this. He was starting to suspect that there wasn't really anything _to_ fight, but that thought was too much for him to dissect at the moment.

He was saved from thinking when he felt Thor's legs lift on either side of his and envelop him even more. At first, Bruce just thought he was covering him as much as possible, but then Thor started spreading his legs, taking Bruce's with them and opening Bruce up. A sharp spike of arousal shot through Bruce at being so brutally exposed and vulnerable, legs spread wide open for anyone to see,- for everyone to see. Bruce trembled at the thought that he was literally being put on display for the others, and he hid his face against Thor's neck.

Thor laughed quietly, and breathed, "We wish to see you. All of you. Look." Bruce whined in his throat, but he did what Thor commanded and turned his head back out, eyes blinking slowly.   

His world narrowed to hazy focus when he felt Natasha take his attention, sidling up to fill his entire view of vision. She settled in between the V of his legs, body lithe and so warm that Bruce could feel her even without touching. She was smiling at him, and Bruce's breath was taken away by just how beautiful she was, red hair illuminated by the dim light that cast a warm glow everywhere. Her skin was fair and expansive, but before Bruce could look to see how much skin was exposed, her lips had found his again, demanding all of his attention, but never rough, never forceful. He couldn’t help but open up for her, body loose and heavy as he let her take whatever she wanted. He would always give her whatever she wanted.

She completely dominated Bruce's mouth, but not in the way that Bruce was expecting. She was soft and insistent, but never pushing Bruce, simply taking what Bruce had to offer. Though Bruce had a feeling that she knew he was offering everything. She kissed him and brought her hands to cup his face, fingers tracing stubble across his chin, and carding into his messy hair in turns. Bruce didn't know which touch he wanted more, and consequently tried to lean into all of them until Natasha steadied him.

She kissed his lips, nose and cheeks, trailing down his chin, only to shift and kiss her way down his body. She sucked on his throat mildly, and left little love bites along his collarbone and chest. Her fingers trailed down to tease and tangle in Bruce's chest hair, before brushing across his nipples, causing him to sharply inhale at the unexpected touch.

Bruce had never particularly thought he had sensitive nipples, but at Natasha's Cheshire grin, he was quickly proven wrong as she started teasing both nipples, rolling the nubs between the pads of her fingers and dipping down to lick at them, blowing across them and grinning wilder when that made Bruce buck up against Thor's hold.

She was slowly driving him crazy with her deliberate touches, brushing across his skin in particular ways that had Bruce whimpering and twitching, stuck between wanting to get away from her ministrations and pushing up into them for more, more, _more_.

In the end, what he wanted didn't matter, because he could do nothing about it, too secure in Thor's arms and legs. But Natasha kept going, alternating between kissing and playing his body so delicately. She slid down his body, fingers and mouth trailing as she went, until she reached his cock and swallowed him without preamble. Bruce gasped with surprise at the rapid change of pace, not realizing that he had grown completely hard, and certainly not expecting Natasha to do that. Bruce didn't know what to do, his mind filling up with static and missed neuron firings as Natasha went to work, showing off some really exquisite skills. Her mouth was hotter than Bruce was expecting, and it was extraordinary the way he felt the heat spread throughout his body.

Bruce tried not to buck up, he really did, but he couldn't help it, with the onslaught of sensations that were threatening to overcome him. It wasn't until he felt Natasha's hands pin his hips down, that he was finally able to relax into the feeling, calming at the two additional anchor points her hands created. It was such a whirlwind of sensations, as Bruce _felt_ everything, every touch, every pressure and slide of Natasha's mouth, all of it. But at the same time, he was settling beneath her hands, under Thor's grasp. The contradictions just served to push Bruce further down into his muddled and cloudy world, where everything was soft and nice.

Amongst the confusing and warring thoughts and emotions, Bruce had enough piece of mind to be so absolutely and incredibly grateful at Natasha for doing this, still in shock over the fact that she _was_ doing it. Slippery thoughts were sliding together and away, but Bruce remembered enough to realize that he should probably thank the person who gives him head, but before he was able to get his 'thank you's out, his mouth was thoroughly claimed by Thor.

Thor tasted so differently from Natasha, but Bruce welcomed it all the same, not that he had much of a choice. Thor was just as domineering as Natasha had been, but again, he wasn't forceful or rough, just gently insistent and demanding. Thor licked his way into Bruce's mouth, and Bruce opened up just as eagerly as he had with Natasha. Both of their stubble was rough on each other's faces, but Bruce relished the slight burn it created.

Bruce was caught between Natasha and Thor, both giving so much pleasure and demanding all of his attention and Bruce was sinking under it all. He heard soft murmurs surrounding him, and he just sank deeper, feeling so safe because of it.

Under the whispers and humming, Bruce heard soft slicking sounds, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was, with his attention flittering from place to place so rapidly. He completely forgot about it quickly though, because Natasha was just so talented and clever with her mouth, that his orgasm hit him completely unexpectedly. It felt like a punch to the stomach, and he actually lost his breath for a moment.

When Bruce finally managed to open his eyes again, he saw that Natasha was grinning wickedly. After a moment, Bruce's eyes grew wide with absolute shock when Natasha swallowed pointedly. He was still stunned when she leaned forward and kissed him, demanding entrance and making him taste himself. She licked and kissed him with purpose and Bruce groaned at her insistence.

"Fuck, Bruce. You taste so fucking good." Natasha whispered in between kisses as she mouthed along his chin. "Do you wanna taste me too?"

Brue whimpered and breathed out, "Yes," before he was even conscious of it.

Natasha simply grinned her wicked smile, and brought her right hand up. Bruce automatically opened his mouth for her and she pressed her wet fingers inside. Bruce immediately started sucking on her fingers, cleaning her rich taste and moaning in obvious pleasure. As his tongue flicked between the webbing of her fingers, a sudden thought came to Bruce, and he realized what the slicking sounds from before were: it had been Natasha fingering herself.

Natasha had been fingering herself _while she had been going down on Bruce._

Bruce moaned with renewed vigor at the mental image, and he sucked her fingers harder, feeling slightly disappointed because he thought that he should have done more to help her out. When he'd cleaned everything he could, Natasha slipped her fingers out, making Bruce whine at the loss.

Bruce inhaled shakily and raggedly asked, "D-did you come?" He forced himself to meet her gaze, which widened fractionally in pleased surprise.

"Yes, sweetie, I came. Thank you for asking." With that, she dipped her hand back down underneath them and gathered more of her wetness on her fingers only to feed it to Bruce again, who moaned and sucked hard, closing his eyes as he focused on his new task.  

Bruce heard a chorus of other moans from behind Natasha, and on their sides, but he couldn't really pay attention to them, as all of his focus was directed on doing his very best job of cleaning Natasha's fingers and tasting every last bit of _her_. He swallowed convulsively and whimpered sadly when she withdrew her fingers for the last time. He was reassured, however, when he felt the damp pads of her fingertips gently rubbing at the frown lines between his eyebrows, soothing the muscles there, and silently ordering him to relax.

He heard a low smattering of murmurs, and he picked up enough to figure out that they were going to change his position. He didn't have time to mourn the loss of Thor's tight grip on him before he was being pushed forward and gently maneuvered until he was on all fours. The new position made him feel open and vulnerable, but he didn't worry about it for long because soon he felt a strong, wet tongue probing at his hole.

Bruce's brain kept glitching, overloaded with _too much, too much_ , before he understood that he was actually getting rimmed by Thor, and that just made him moan throatily before pushing his hips backwards. There were hands all over him again, soft stroking and purposeful massaging, and then Bruce couldn't hold his weight anymore, arms going weak as he fell face first into the bed. His hips were kept up by one of Thor's strong arms, and his rhythm didn't falter for a moment, simply digging in and making Bruce breathe hard. He couldn't believe how deep Thor's tongue could reach, and each warm stroke inside him made him relax and open up. Bruce didn't know how much of the electrifying feelings that kept thrumming through his body had anything to do with Thor's extracurricular activities, or if he was just that good.

He was saved from wondering too much when he felt his head being turned towards Natasha. Bruce found himself in the middle of an intense and continuous make out session with her, and between her mouth and the competing sensations with Thor, Bruce got a sense of déjà vu, except with Natasha and Thor switching places.

Bruce was so preoccupied, that he was taken by surprise when he felt a hand on his half-hard cock, astonished that he hadn't gone soft. When that hand started stroking him evenly, Bruce whimpered and cried out into Natasha's mouth, who swallowed his noises. His cries grew louder, and more involuntary as that hand made him grow harder and harder, and again, Bruce was amazed that he could after coming so soon.

Bruce was a mess, and he knew it. He was openly gasping and writhing between Natasha and Thor and whoever's hand was cleverly keeping him on the edge. Bruce didn't even notice at first when Thor switched his tongue with his fingers, digits coated heavily with lube. Slowly, Thor stretched more and more of Bruce, finger going deep and dragging along and around places that made Bruce's eyes roll back with bliss. The person stroking his cock stopped, letting him go, and Bruce wondered why.

He stopped caring when one finger became two, and Bruce was distantly impressed with how well he was taking it, because Thor's fingers were _huge_ ; they kept spreading apart inside of him, scissoring and making Bruce whimper in pleasure. He made even more sounds when Thor started randomly crooking his fingers, stroking along his insides. When he crooked them just right, though, Bruce jolted and shouted out loud, shocked by the way his body quivered out of his control.

"Ooh, do that again. I think you just found his sweet spot." Clint's amused voice came floating from somewhere behind Bruce.

Thor brushed his fingers against his prostate again, and Bruce couldn't help his reactions, shivering in delight and making unflattering noises. The others didn't seem to mind; in fact, they all seemed to like Bruce's reactions, given by the way Bruce was felt up a little more, and Thor's persistent prodding continued. At one point, Bruce was nearly sure that Thor really had used a little bit of electricity, because on one particular brush of his fingers, Bruce nearly jumped out of his skin and cried out at the intense feeling coursing through his body.

It was too much, and Bruce could only take it. It was just what he needed.

Thankfully, soon after that they must have finally deemed him open enough. When Thor backed off, Bruce whined sadly at the loss, not ready to be let go, but he was taken aback when he felt something warm and liquid hit his lower back. It splashed against his skin, and then slowly started rolling down the arch of his back before he felt a huge hand massaging it into his skin.

It was that, the rubbing and spreading, that made Bruce realize that someone had just come onto his back.

"You are ours, Bruce. Rest assured that we will all mark you as ours before the night is over." Thor growled possessively, still rubbing his come against Bruce's skin.

Bruce shuddered and groaned at the unexpected pleasure that he got from those  protective words, suddenly wanting that badly, wanting to be marked and claimed and _wanted_. He wanted to wear evidence of their claim on his skin, and he wanted to be owned by them, to be kept forever and never let go.

 _He wanted it so bad_.

He hadn't realized that he was shaking so hard, but then there were hands urging him and pushing him to turn over onto his back. Bruce sighed in relief at the easy position, and let his legs fall apart of their own accord. The new arrangement made it easy for Steve to fit himself in between Bruce's spread legs. He leaned over Bruce's body and kissed him almost shyly compared to their earlier kiss. But after a moment, he seemed to become more confident, yet still keeping up that soft edge, and Bruce's eyes burned at the tenderness he was being afforded. Steve kept the kiss chaste, but it was intimate enough that Bruce was having a difficult time breathing normally.

When Steve broke the kiss, he smiled down at Bruce, and he was so captivating that Bruce nearly missed the way that Steve's strong hands gripped his thighs and shifted them upwards, holding his weight effortlessly. Bruce certainly noticed when Steve's cock nudged at his wet entrance, and between one breath and another, started sliding in, the way smooth and slick. Bruce had a moment to be impressed with how ruthlessly effective Thor had been in opening him up, before he was groaning in what he hoped was obvious pleasure at being filled so thoroughly. Steve was big and Bruce relished the way his body slowly accommodated to the stretch. 

"So fucking gorgeous, you don't even know. Look at you, just taking his cock so beautifully." Tony. That was Tony whispering in Bruce's ear.

Bruce shuddered and instinctively rolled his hips, causing Steve to groan and readjust his grip to steady Bruce.

"I got it, I got it." Steve chuckled, and started withdrawing slowly before pushing back in.

It was unbelievable. It felt _so good_. The stretch, the heat of his cock splitting him open, the way each slide became easier and smoother on each thrust. The way he was filled up, leaving no room for anything else.

But something was missing, Bruce knew.

As soon as Steve really started moving and getting into a good rhythm, Bruce began shifting and whining unhappily in his throat, needing to fix it, fix _something_. It wasn't enough, he wasn't enough.

Everything around him came to an abrupt stop, and suddenly there were even more hands on him, voices overlapping as each one asked him what was wrong? Was he hurt? Did they need to stop?

Bruce's head was swimming with the sudden change of atmosphere, but when he felt Steve trying to pull out, Bruce cried out, "No!" and reached blindly to grab at Steve, willing him to stay. Steve caught his hand and squeezed reassuringly, and then he was the only one in Bruce's field of vision.

"Bruce, you gotta tell us what's wrong. We're really worried we're hurting you. Can you tell us what you're thinking, please?" Steve's face was so openly earnest and concerned, that Bruce's breath got caught in his throat. Bruce shook his head to try and focus, and he shut his eyes to find and force out the words.

"I-I sh..should be help, helping…" Bruce was having a hard time spitting out the words, but no one interrupted him, giving him time to center himself. "I should be…be, _used_. I wanna, wanna help. Ple,- _please_."

"Bruce, are you saying you want to take care of us? Like the way we're taking care of you?" That was Clint, coming from beyond Bruce's line of sight. Bruce gave a sigh of relief that Clint, as always, could see what the issue was, and he gave a nod in that general direction.

"That can be arranged." There was a smile in Tony's tone, and Bruce felt everybody collectively sigh in relief. Everyone relaxed and Bruce sank back down in genuine release, happy that they were going to take care of it, take care of _him_. And let him take care of them, in turn.

God, he couldn’t believe how easy it was to let go.

He still had Steve's cock in his ass, and it felt so good to be filled. He wanted more, and before he knew it, someone was lifting his torso up so that they could slide a pillow underneath, causing his chest to arch and his head to hang down over it at an angle.

Steve started to pick up a rhythm again, but it was slow and lazy. Bruce still moaned with every shallow thrust, and then Tony was there, kissing him and taking control. When he broke away, Tony lightly tapped Bruce's cheek and ordered him, "Open. Let me see that beautiful mouth of yours."

Bruce groaned and dutifully let his slack mouth open wide.

"That's it, so good, Bruce. You're so good for us. Beautiful." Bruce let the whispered praise wash over him, and then he felt Tony feeding him his cock, sliding perfectly into his mouth. Bruce immediately stretched his neck out towards Tony, trying to get as much of his cock in his mouth as possible, but a hand rested on his throat, a tacit warning to be still. As soon as he forced himself to calm down, he was rewarded with Tony sliding in deeper into his mouth and bumping against the back of his throat. Bruce tipped his head back further on the bed, glad to have the pillow under his back, and Tony understood what he wanted, as he went deeper and shoved his cock down Bruce's throat.

It was _perfect_.

Bruce felt perfect with Tony's cock sliding in and out of his throat and Steve's cock thrusting steadily into his ass. It felt perfect when Steve and Tony started picking up a rhythm together, thrusting into Bruce alternatively and keeping every single one of Bruce's nerves alight. It felt perfect to feel used and needed and wanted. It felt so perfect that he knew there were tears sliding down his temples from the perfection of it all.

He felt someone wipe away the tears, but more just replace them as he gave over everything. All Bruce could do was lay there take what they gave him, take the perfect rhythm between Tony and Steve, take their repeated praises, take their constant touches, take the love they kept insisting on laying on him.

There were hands along his chest, playing with the hair there, and brushing along his sensitive nipples, making him flinch involuntarily with each pass of fingers. There were tips of fingers tracing his body, smoothing down lines along his sides, and trailing up his thighs that were still being held up by Steve.  

Bruce felt overwhelmed and full, and so, _so_ aroused. His cock was leaking against his stomach, twitching with each one of Steve's thrusts. Nobody touched his cock again, though, and Bruce was both disappointed and grateful for it, because he knew that he would come immediately if someone touched him now. Now he knew why the person from before had stopped stroking him.

Every now and again, Tony would slip out enough for Bruce to breathe in raggedly, coughing a little at one point, but at Bruce's whining, Tony never left him empty for long, quickly sliding back in, and wonderfully cutting off Bruce's breath occasionally.

Bruce had someone on either side of him, still holding his hands, squeezing reassuringly and playing with his fingers. Sometimes they would massage his palms and inner wrists, chasing away any last remaining vestiges of tension. He could feel himself crying a little more from those tender touches.

After an eternity of floating in perfection, Bruce was roused by Tony caressing his face and tapping his temple gently.

"Hey Bruce, you feel so fucking good. We're getting real close, gonna come soon. Are you ready for us?" Tony slipped out of Bruce's mouth to let him breathe, but Bruce immediately chased after him, not wanting to miss a single moment. Tony's chuckle was strained and breathy as he indulged him, and Bruce suddenly realized just how much both Steve and Tony were affected; they were both breathing pretty hard, and their grips were tightening slightly as they got close.

Bruce just squeezed the hands holding onto his, and hoped that it was enough of communication to tell them he was ready.

"So good, Bruce. God, you take it so beautifully." He heard the praise, and Bruce's lips curved into a smile as much he could with a mouth full of cock, because he was so happy that they knew what he meant. Sure enough, Steve and Tony's thrusts grew harder and faster, until Tony crammed his cock as deep as he could go, coming down Bruce's throat and forcing him to swallow convulsively. It took a lot of will power on Bruce's part to try and not cough or choke, but no matter how carefully he swallowed, he still spluttered a little bit when Tony withdrew, breathing in deep, ragged wheezes as Steve snapped his hips against Bruce's. Tony delicately wiped away errant strands of come and saliva from Bruce's face, and then leaned down to kiss him sweetly on the cheek before claiming his mouth.

Immediately after that, he heard a groan from Steve and then felt warmth spreading throughout him from the inside, and he knew that Steve just came. Tony broke the kiss and stroked his face, letting Bruce lean into the contact. He felt so marked and claimed, the come inside of him feeling like burning evidence of it, and he just let himself lay there, breathing hard and still crying. He whined pitifully when Steve carefully pulled out, but he loved the feeling of his come slipping inside of him. He especially loved it when Steve Thor whistled lowly and some fingers reached down to gather up the leaking come, only to push it back inside, fingering him briefly and making sparks go off behind Bruce's eyelids.

Hands never left him for a moment, changing, but never stopping, and he was eternally grateful for the anchors, knowing that he would be so incredibly lost, and float away without them. He tried to pay attention to whose hand's were whose, but it was really hard. Sometimes he'd feel a huge and heavy hand on his calf, and he knew it was Thor helping to lower his legs back on the bed. Sometimes it was a gentle and small hand, belonging to Natasha who carded her hands through Bruce's sweat-soaked hair. Sometimes he'd notice Steve's hands, exploratory and tentative, but sure in the way he traced invisible patterns into Bruce's forearm and shoulder. Tony's hands were quick and sure, manipulating Bruce's head to suit his needs, whether to make him kiss Tony, or to turn his head for a stretch or to reach a tendon easier, digging in to massage it.

Clint's hands were harder to pinpoint, but then they were on his face, warm on either side of his head. "Hey Brucie. You're doing so well. Can you do me a favor and look at me? There you go, open your eyes, you got it."

Bruce blinked his eyes open, following what was asked of him, but the image was blurry. Bruce wasn't afraid, though. He was too safe to fear anything, too protected to need to.

"So good, Bruce. God, you're _so good_." Clint whispered before he leaned in and pressed his lips against Bruce's. Like all the others before him, this kiss was just as demanding, but not forceful in the least, giving Bruce time to ease into it. Bruce felt Clint smile against his mouth, and it made him want to smile too, the edges his lips quirking upwards in a tired attempt.

It was over too soon, though, and Clint pulled away, dropping a wet kiss on the tip of his nose before saying, "I want you to keep your eyes on me, okay? Yeah, that's it, just keep them on me, you got it."

It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open, but Bruce was determined to do as he was asked. His heavy-lidded eyes never drifted away from Clint's blurry face, too enraptured by his order. He didn't think much of when Clint shifted his legs around, but he felt his eyes widen and his mouth go slack with surprise when Clint effortlessly slid into him.

"That's it, there you go, doing well, Brucie." Clint talked softly, rubbing his hands up and down Bruce's thighs and then reaching down to rub his stomach and chest, soothing the sudden  hitching breaths that Bruce found himself making.

Clint rolled his hips, and Bruce caught his breath as Clint grinded right against his prostate, making Bruce jerk uncontrollably. Clint fucked into him so slowly and so steadily, picking up a careful rhythm that had Bruce tottering on the edge of too much. Too much emotion, too much sensation, and tears were spilling out without him meaning them to.

"You got it, it's okay. We've got you, Bruce, we've got you," Clint kept talking to him, but Bruce couldn't catch most of it, only knowing that they were all praises and endearments and it all hurt so much in a good way. Bruce was having a hard time breathing right, gasping and shuddering so hard, but Clint just kept going, keeping that steady, even pace that never once faltered.

Clint had to remind Bruce a few times, though, "Hey, let's keep those eyes on me, okay? There you go, so nice."

"Keep looking at me, Brucie, yes, so good. Thank you."

"It's okay, Bruce, open your eyes, I know it's hard, but you're doing so well. Nice, you got it. Thanks, you're being so good."

Every time he had to be reminded to look at him, Bruce started to feel bad, panic trying to creep in at not being able to follow such a simple order, but Clint seemed to know or see it on his face, because he immediately put a stop to any nasty train of thought simply by thanking him and telling him how good he was being. It worked so quickly to placate Bruce, and he couldn't help but sink back into his dreamy headspace and watch Clint, like he was supposed to.

When Clint wrapped a hand around Bruce's cock, however, Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and screamed, shaking hard and arching up into the grip, body suspended with tension for an endless breath. He didn't come by sheer miracle, though it was so fucking close that Bruce could almost taste it. Then, in a rush, Bruce realized that he didn't come because he was waiting.

Waiting for permission to come.

The thought freed Bruce and made him feel floaty and light.

"You're okay, you're fine, Bruce. Look at me, Brucie," Clint coaxed Bruce into opening his eyes, and he waited until he held Bruce's gaze before he started stroking him just as slowly and evenly as he was fucking him.

Bruce was a complete mess, choking on breaths and needing to come so badly. He couldn't relax back against the sheets, no matter how soothing the hands on him were trying to be; each touch just racketed his arousal higher and higher, winding him up hard and fast. His cock was dripping precome and his abdominal muscles were twitching sporadically with every harsh inhale and shuddering exhale. 

"You're so beautiful, Bruce." Clint promised, still keeping that maddening pace. "God, so beautiful. And loved. You hear that, Bruce? You are so fucking loved, and we want to see you come, can you do that? Come for us."

That was the last straw for Bruce, mind going blank and body out of his control, helpless as he came. It was so intense that he lost his sense of his surroundings for long moments, utterly overtaken and overwhelmed.

 He was still trembling when he came back to awareness, realizing that Clint hadn't stopped moving inside of him. Clint's hands on his face forced him to look up at Clint, and by then it was naturally ingrained to search for his gaze, regardless of the haze across his vision. It felt so good, being filled, but Bruce was just starting to tip over into oversensitivity; Clint made a few more thrusts, each one snapping just a little bit harder, as if Clint just couldn't help himself.

"We love you Bruce, god so much. We want you so badly, want to keep you. You're ours forever, you know that, Brucie? You're ours and we love you."

With those sincere declarations, Clint came inside of Bruce, marking him from the inside.

 Bruce broke.

He lost it, too much of everything, truly overwhelming him and taking over, and he broke down into ugly, uncontrollable sobs, suffocating and drowning and losing it all. He could barely breathe with how hard his chest was heaving, each breath deserting him and leaving him choking to get a new one.

Bruce was blind, deaf and dumb, save for the agonizing wails that escaped his throat when he finally managed a gasp of air. Throughout his outburst, he could feel himself being taken care of, arms wrapping around him, hands touching him, smoothing him down, comforting him, hugging him, _loving him_ , and he just cried harder at it all. He was safe, _so safe and secured_ , enveloped in so much warmth, more than he'd ever had in his life, more affection, tenderness and kindness than he'd ever _dreamed_ of ever receiving, and he just couldn't process it, couldn't believe that he could be given such a gift. 

They never left him once, never let him drift or slip away. They kept talking to him and whispering to him, laying praise and love and meaningless words on him, filling him up to the brim and letting it spill over, overflowing and still, they kept going. They kept going long after Bruce had cried himself to sleep, completely drained and exhausted and done.

*

When he woke up, Bruce felt warm. He'd never felt so warm for so long before in his life, and he never wanted to leave it. He felt sore, muscles protesting when he shifted slightly, but it was the good kind of soreness. The kind that made Bruce want to smile because it meant he'd done something good. He also felt very deeply exhausted, weighed down and heavy like the kind that comes with a good catharsis.

He was absolutely comfortable where he was, tucked against huge expanses of warm bodies, covered in limbs and pressed close against bare skin. Slowly, it dawned on Bruce that the bodies wrapped around him were all laying peacefully nearby, everybody touching him somehow.

A wave of emotion passed through him as he remembered exactly what these people did for him, and he suddenly felt tearful again, breath hitching in his throat. These people, this team, had proven to him that he was capable of being loved, and this concept was of such a huge magnitude that Bruce was having a difficult time of fully comprehending it. He figured he'd probably never fully understand it, if only because it was so daunting to him at the moment, threatening to drag him under its weight again.

His body must have started tensing up at the rush of thoughts, and the body that was pressed against his back shifted and sighed deeply, the arms connected to it tightening around Bruce. Realizing that Bruce was awake, they softly spoke, "Mmm, it is quite alright, friend. Everything is well." Thor's breath fluttered across Bruce's earlobe, making him shiver.

Bruce forced himself to open his eyes, and when his eyes adjusted to the soft glow of the ambient light, he saw that Natasha's head was laying just above his, with Steve wrapped up against his front. Natasha was awake and watching Bruce with soft eyes as her fingers slowly carded through his hair.

"You're okay." She said, voice gravelly with sleep. Then, on second thought, she added, "We're all okay."

 Bruce gave her a tiny, tired smile, and then continued searching, eyes slowly categorizing.

Steve was asleep, mouth slightly open against Bruce's chest, breath blowing across his chest hair, making him break out in goosebumps. Tony was somehow wedged between Natasha and Steve, eyes closed as he snored softly; one of his hands had slipped under Steve to reach Bruce's neck, fingers lightly resting on his pulse, while his other hand was wrapped around Steve. Bruce was briefly concerned about Tony's trapped arm and lack of poor circulation, but when Bruce tilted his head slightly, he realized that the arm was actually under Steve's neck, with little actual pressure on his arm. The thought made Bruce smile, glad that Tony wasn't going to wake up with a dead arm, because he knew how much Tony would gripe about it.

Just as Bruce started to wonder as to where Clint was, he felt a squeeze on one of his calves, and Bruce realized that Clint's head was resting on Bruce's hip, his arms and legs tangled with Bruce's legs. Bruce felt a wave of fondness for all of them and how they all made a point to surround and stay near Bruce. He hadn't realized how he had relaxed and eased the tension in his body with each new revelation of their positions.

"Go back to sleep. We will all still be here when you next wake." Thor murmured against Bruce's neck. The tenor of his voice was working quickly to lull Bruce back under, but still, Bruce hung on, looking up at Natasha. She gave him an encouraging smile, and stroked his face, brushing her thumb across his cheek, and then eyelids, when he closed his eyes. Another gentle squeeze on his calf from Clint was enough for Bruce to let go, and sink back into Thor's chest and arms, loving the way that Steve sleepily snuggled closer.

Bruce drifted back to sleep, thinking that, for once, he could actually believe that what Thor said was true, and that they would all still be there for him when he woke up.

Bruce wondered how it would feel to get used to the idea.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday Nony!


End file.
